


The Hanged Man

by Hitsugi_Zirkus



Series: Halcyon: Sormik Week 2016 [5]
Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Angst, Canon Related, Childhood Trauma, M/M, Mental Instability, Survivor Guilt, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-17 06:40:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8134003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hitsugi_Zirkus/pseuds/Hitsugi_Zirkus
Summary: The world was one of abandonment -- of those who let go, and those who remained that suffered. Sorey is just one human who lacks powers of purification, but his body is a vessel to store malevolence. He absorbs the remnants of despair and hatred lingering within the people of Glenwood after a ten-year war, hoping to repay the lives he let slip from his fingers in his past. Mikleo, his self-proclaimed “guardian angel,” is worried about the burden the malevolence is having on Sorey’s body and heart. But Sorey may shatter by the time he finally decides to accept Mikleo’s help…(Super Late) Prompt Fill for Sormik Week Day 7: Malevolence/Purity





	1. Caput the First: The Fool

**Author's Note:**

> Plot got out of my hands again, what else is new. Originally I just wanted to write some weird-ass emeto fic with a dash of tainted!Sorey and Angst but goddammit here we are with me making a story with multiple parts again. There's components of canon in here but I tweaked it just enough for it to kinda be a mess of canon + AU. I will explain it as it goes on but if you have any questions at the end, feel free to ask.
> 
> Idk guys, let’s just get ready for a journey.

 

That scream echoed in Sorey’s head, an endless reverberation of terror and desperation. He wasn’t a stranger to that. The sickening miasma of malevolence had taken so much from him...

Sorey stared down into the darkness, shaken. All the shadows looked the same. He couldn’t see anything. His hand throbbed with a phantom grip that had clung to life -- then lost it.

“You can’t save everyone.” The sentence wasn’t one of consolation. Heavy with grief and pain and hatred for the world, it was a bitterness that Sorey could taste at the back of his mouth. Cold eyes -- had they ever even held a hint of warmth before? -- leered beyond him, as if he weren’t even worth looking at.

“ _You can’t save anyone_.”

It was Sorey’s sin.

* * *

Dizzyness raked down Sorey’s body as soon as he left his patient’s home.

She was a good woman -- they were always good people, they just had bad, _terrible_ things happen to them -- but her face when he first stepped in had been shadowed and gaunt, her eyes swollen with all the tears she had been shedding. Several days ago, she had received the heart-crushing news that her husband had been declared dead from a surprise attack on an idle Hyland camp.

In a war, wounds like these were expected. They happened every day. Instead of bringing empathy and a need to put an end to the suffering though, a thick smog of hatred continued to trudge heavily over the heads of all in Glenwood. Even if one wasn’t a soldier in the Hyland or Rolance army, or a political leader, the hot-blooded veins of war reached far and wide, touching families and friends, breaking them, causing them to bring destruction to one another long after the end.

That was the kind of twisted cycle the country found itself in, the one Sorey had grown up with. Hyland and Rolance had reached a truce and signed a peace treaty a little over two years ago. Even though the war was politically over, the tension among the people of both kingdoms still existed, their wounds continuing to fester. Ten years was an extremely long time to destroy lives, after all. As a result, disputes and surprise attacks spread from time to time like growing fires. If they weren’t stopped, the already strained truce would be burned completely to the ground.

Every time Sorey blinked, their faces and shouts played in distorted imagery behind his eyelids. His heart pounded in time with the shattering of their sanity. No matter where he went their invisible hands seemed to claw at him. He never knew if they were asking him for help or trying to corrode his being -- it could very well be both, given how sick he felt every time he cleansed the malevolence from a person’s heart.

Sorey swayed to the nearest tree and leaned heavily against it, willing his vision to stop spinning. The malevolence he just removed continued to squirm and screech inside him like it was a live being, rattling his bones as if they were prison bars.

Sorey groaned, forcing a smile. “Come on, don’t be difficult…”

“ _It’s your fault, your fault that my husband didn’t come back home! He’s gone! I’m alone! He’s dead and it’s all your fault! Why didn’t you protect him? I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you--!!_ ”

The burning of his throat registered to him before he realized he’d thrown up. He curled in, clutching his stomach when he heaved again. He stopped eating anything before going to a cleansing, just to prevent anything like this from happening, but bile, acid, and the water he allowed himself to drink still worked their way up.

“Ugh…”

“Another superb job, huh?”

Sorey looked away from the figure that had entered his vision. That pure aura wasn’t helping his condition any. He just needed to focus on something to ground himself, something _not_ radiating white light from within.

Breathing steady, smile shaking, he said, “Are you really doing this right now? What are you, a stalker or something?”

“You can consider me like your guardian angel, if you want. Do humans still call seraphim that?”

“Humans call you -- a lot of things.” The worst of the nausea seemed to be passed. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his glove, and blinked away his overstimulated tears. “Not necessarily kind things, either.” A painful and strained part of history, much bigger than just the two of them, lingered unspoken in the air at Sorey’s words.

“...So like I’ve been saying to you for weeks -- just let me help you, Sorey.”

Sorey forced himself to stand up straight, ignoring the weakness in his legs. One step forward. Two steps. He finally looked at his companion -- his stalker, if you preferred, or his guardian angel -- this _seraph_ standing before him, his expression a still, clear lake, the wind rustling his moonlit hair. He was so iridescent and beautiful and _pure_ , literally the embodiment of it with not a single ounce of malevolence clinging to him. For a second Sorey resented him. Not deeply or sincerely -- but getting sick from malevolence intake was definitely not Sorey’s favorite thing in the world, and seeing his companion stand there so unaffected in comparison was a bit discouraging.

“Can we, uh, fast forward this conversation and skip to the part where my guardian angel helps me get home without passing out? Just for now, Mikleo?”

For a few heartbeats, Mikleo looked like he would ignore Sorey’s words and press the issue. His lips were certainly pressed together with effort to keep his argument down. But he finally sighed and started walking forward in the direction of Sorey’s home. Grateful, Sorey followed.

“How many did you do today?”

“About twenty-five.”

Seraphim were usually portrayed as composed, even cold, creatures. But Sorey had known Mikleo to display a full range of emotions, including the enraged sputtering he was doing now. “ _Just today_ ? It’s barely mid-afternoon! You -- oh, you _want_ to die, don’t you?” He shook his head, trying to gather himself before his restless hands grabbed at Sorey. “You are _such_ a foolish human.”

“You’re the one following me around when I keep refusing your help. Doesn’t that make you foolish too?”

“You’re a unique human, you know why I can’t let up on you. You have a high resonance with the seraphim that allows you to see and hear me.” As if to emphasize his words, a rolling merchant cart came into view, approaching them on the road.

The merchant and his wife politely waved to Sorey. “Faring well today?” the wife asked in worry, taking note of Sorey’s strained appearance. “Perhaps we could give you a ride?”

“Ah, no thank you, I’ll be just fine. You’re kind to offer though!”

“Take care of yourself,” the merchant called, his cart already wheeling past, the goods rattling inside from the bumpy dirt road. “You give people hope for salvation, we can’t have you passing out.”

Neither of them had given any notice to Mikleo, who stopped walking long enough to watch the exchange then continue to press forward. “On top of that,” he continued on, “even without a seraph using you for a vessel, you have some kind of purifying power. It’s not natural. So I have to keep my eyes on you -- if at least to make sure you don’t die.”

“So you’ve been saying.” Sorey sighed. Purification power though -- his life would be a lot simpler if that was the case.

They walked side by side. The walk helped clear the painful toxin the malevolence had worked up in Sorey’s body, and gradually he was able to move without feeling sick.

The city of Marlind was a part of the Hyland kingdom. During the war, it was constantly infected by plague. The malevolence surrounding it had been one of unrest and despair rather than pure hatred. There was fear from the diseased that saw only their own death every time they closed their eyes. And although the plague was long gone, paranoia continued to veil the air, giving rise to explosions of disputes over the smallest thing. Because of the thin thread Marlind suspended itself on, Sorey stayed there to easily reach anyone that would need him, and hopefully put an end to any hellion formations.

Mikleo slowed his step right outside Sorey’s humble home that was right at the edge of the town and turned to him. “Is that girl here to help you out at least?”

“You mean Alisha? She’s a princess, Mikleo. Sure, she’s here pretty often to check on the status of the people, but I can’t expect to be her top priority. There’s bigger things she has to be concerned about.”

“Like keeping that peace treaty between the two kingdoms,” Mikleo said. Clearly he thought the task too large for just one princess, but his tone betrayed his admiration for her efforts. “Didn’t you tell me once that you were born in Rolance? Isn’t it difficult for you to live here?”

“I was born in Camlann,” Sorey corrected. “But my father took me when I was about seven and raised me in Rolance after… Well, you know what Camlann is like now.” He exhaled at the mention of such a tragic subject, especially sorrowful considering he’d been in the middle of it. What remained of his hometown now was nothing but ash. He might’ve been too young to fully grasp the tragedy of its downfall, but the hazy memories were nonetheless unpleasant.

“As for if it matters that I’m in Hyland territory now,” he continued, “it shouldn’t matter with the truce. Besides, I’m just doing the same as Alisha and anyone else who wants to finally put the war behind us. We’re all just trying to do what we can to prevent something that horrible from happening again. Glenwood barely survived the last round. Malevolence saturated the air so much even those without resonance could see it. Natural disasters tore the earth and skies. People turning into hellions… Even seraphim gave up hope in us and fled. It kept dragons from forming, but with no blessings whatsoever, it just made things worse for humans…” He snapped out of his rather depressing trance, snapping his gaze to Mikleo. “Not that I’m placing any blame! It was our fault in the first place, with the war…”

Mikleo didn’t look offended in the least. If anything, his eyes were full of regret, even though he was quite a young seraphim and was probably just as old was Sorey when the war had been going on. “Maybe. But we’re not free of blame. I saw it myself, the plea of humans for seraphim to lend their strength. Even if they couldn’t see us, they so desperately wanted to believe we were still there, and yet we never answered them. Maybe it’s too late for seraphim to do anything.”

As his words went on, Mikleo loosely crossed his arms, as if trying to make himself smaller in face of the helplessness he’d felt back then. But he took a decisive breath, meeting Sorey’s gaze with bright twilight eyes. “But I’m standing here now, and I want to help you. You know, if you let me.”

Sorey removed the brass key from his pocket, opening up the door to his home. For one reason or another, Mikleo never entered it despite Sorey inviting him in before. He smiled, shaking his head. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”

Mikleo lingered outside the doorway. “You were sick earlier today. Human bodies aren’t meant to hold that much malevolence.”

“You just said half an hour ago that I was special!” Sorey tried to make light of the situation, if not to get Mikleo off his back then to at least diffuse the air. With Mikleo, he always made his point clear. And _persistently_. It just wasn’t healthy to scowl that much.

Mikleo sighed, then rummaged around in the small bag wrapped around his hips to pull out a case with an assortment of colorful gels inside. “If you won’t let me help you, then at least take these. They probably won’t help in getting rid of the residue of malevolence, but you’ll feel less sick.”

“Oh… Thanks, that’s really nice of you.”

“Look at that, so you _can_ be grateful sometimes.” Mikleo tsked, placing the case on Sorey’s open palm. But his touch lingered. He turned Sorey’s hand over, slowly tracing the line of the straps there. He unbuckled them and bunched the glove up to Sorey’s knuckles to reveal the tattoo on the back of his palm -- two crescent moon shapes embraced by the meeting of two lightening bolts. The mark was one mirrored on his other hand too -- the ancient marks of those with divine protective powers. Sorey, and no doubt Mikleo, had been taught that such markings were useless in this kind of world.

And yet...

Mikleo stared at the tattoo for a long while, then covered it back up, shaking his head as he rebuckled the leather straps on Sorey’s arm.

“I’ll say it again. You’re a foolish human.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mapped it out and this /should/ end up being 5 parts. The good news is these parts will be a LOT shorter than those in “Firesong”, I’m thinking about 2000 words like this first bit. We’ll see how /that/ goes lmao. Updates will be scattered because I still don’t have wifi but I will do my best to be prompt!
> 
> ANYWAY WHOOOO I DID IT I FINISHED SORMIK WEEK 2016!! I’ve never completed the full week in other fanweeks I’ve participated in but I love sormik too much to NOT see it through, no matter how late!! But it’s done so yayyy I feel. Accomplished. Also Tired. Oh my god So Tired... Phew... o)-)
> 
> Twitter, @fuwajellyfish  
> Tumblr, clears-jellyfish-dress


	2. Caput the Second: Eight of Swords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crescent moons, the bolts of lightening, their images writhed on the backs of Sorey's palms like squirming veins. Tendril by tendril, the girl's taint stabbed through Sorey, lacing into his bones, prying open his ribcage and flooding into his heart. And, of course, the images of her torment and pain started to wash over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, back before college ruined me, I used to publish like once a day. I want to go back to those times of just writing away, so thus an update already! Next update might not come until the weekend, but who knows, maybe I can publish two chapters then!

****Mikleo was right -- the gels only helped Sorey so much. Another day meant more cleansing, which meant another day more of feeling like his insides were turning into acid and his vision being overlapped by the memories of the malevolence’s victims.

And there were so many victims. No matter how many people he tried to cleanse in a day, no matter how much he told himself the sicker he felt the more healed the people of Glenwood would be -- it all meant nothing when he woke up from a sleepless night tortured by pain and screams just to see that the air outside felt just as tainted as ever. Malevolence spread like fire. It felt like his efforts were for naught.

Even so, he had to keep going. It was as he’d been told many times: he gave people hope, no matter how small and self-sacrificing that hope was. Nothing about that could be called insignificant.

Alisha often told him the same thing. It was a relatively quiet evening after she finished meeting with her council, and she invited Sorey over to her private home to relax around some tea and converse. They were often on the same wavelength about many subjects, and so Sorey found mutual respite in being in Alisha’s company. Just seeing her smile when he arrived, Sorey felt more healed than any gel could give him.

Hearing his worries, Alisha put down her cup with a delicate _clink_. “I understand your frustration,” she said. “It’s been more than two years since the truce was agreed on in desperate attempt to save any more lives from being lost. But...war isn’t buried with the dead. It lives on in the hearts of survivors. I do what I can to lift spirits and restore Hyland to a kingdom of radiance and peace, but I’m not sure if it’s actually helping anyone...”

Sorey reached across the table, putting his hand on top of hers and squeezing it. “Alisha, you do _wonders_ for your people. They love you, and can smile because you care for them so well. Nothing higher can be asked of you.”

Although Alisha smiled softly at his gesture, her eyes remained tinged with a rare kind of sadness she never let the public see. “Nothing higher can be asked of me because I’m merely human. If I had divine powers like you, then maybe I could do something more for everyone.” She turned her hand over, returning his squeeze. “Thank you, by the way. I know no amount of me repeating it will show my gratitude for what you do for the people of Glenwood, but it’s all I can offer.”

“I appreciate our friendship enough~” Sorey offered her a smile.

“The burden must be so much though. Listen, Sorey," her voice quieted, "I know it's selfish, but -- are you sure there’s no way I can do the same thing you do?”

The question inevitably came up whenever Sorey and Alisha met up, especially after long days like this when Sorey had to hide his sickness so as not to worry his friend. Saying that he would not wish this burden on anyone else, especially kind-hearted Alisha, would be an insult to her sincere and strong wish to heal the hearts of her people and protect them from future strife. Sorey knew quite well that Alisha was willing to give her life for her people and for the sake of this truce -- but he didn’t want _who she was_ to be the price of upholding her honor. If Alisha was darkened with malevolence...she would no longer be the person who wanted to protect people.

 _Kind of hypocritical, aren’t you?_  The criticism came in Mikleo’s voice. For once, he wasn’t hovering around Sorey, but it looked like his voice was already well-seeped into Sorey’s head, judging him as being a foolish human.

Well. There was a difference of cause and consequence between himself and Alisha should either of them become tainted. At the end of the day, Sorey wasn’t the one with a kingdom to run.

At his conflicted silence, Alisha pressed her lips together in a forced smile. She squeezed his hand again before pulling away. “I’m sorry, I know your answer can’t change. At the very least then, I pray you continue to be well, and use your gift to ensure peace in the hearts of the people.”

“Of course. Salvation is what I sell, right?” Sorey chuckled. He bowed his head to excuse himself, rising from his seat. “Speaking of which, I'm sorry to rush out, but I have to meet someone now.”

“Yes, of course.” Alisha rose as well. “I’ll come visit you soon. Sir Sergei of Rolance has requested to see me to speak of a matter he wouldn’t specify in his letter, so it might be a few days, but I _will_ visit. You’re one of the people too, and my dear friend, so I worry.”

Sorey smiled. “I feel better knowing you’re looking after me, princess~ Have a safe journey, Alisha.”

 _I’ll keep taking care of things here_.

* * *

White cloth was binding their eyes in a blindfold and snaking around their body. There were eight of them in all, six girls and two boys of varying ages from nineteen to five. Scattered around them like broken glass, eight rusted swords next to each child like marking a grave. Sorey felt like he had seen this image before, perhaps in a book somewhere, an omen of being trapped and helpless. But this wasn't a book, it was real life, and these children had been found looked in a dark room of their house like this, abandoned by their relatives that had robbed them. A neighbor had heard their sobs. 

"Why haven't you freed them?" Sorey asked incredulously, kneeling before one girl of about eleven. She seemed not to notice him, completely in her own world as she cried out in agony. 

The neighbor hesitated. "If they are attracting malevolence, then I thought it best to keep them bound, for their and everyone's safety. B-but _you_ 're here now. You purify malevolence, don't you? So just help them, do what you do." 

Purify. Right. Sorey couldn't very well leave them like this. Their collective fear and despair was a breeding ground for malevolence, and would eventually turn into hatred. Eventually their bodies would twist and warp into hellion shapes.

How many days had it been that they just sat like this, paralyzed by fear to even move out of this spot and comfort one another?

"Don't worry," Sorey murmured gently to the girl in front of him. He ran a hand through her dirty, sweat-matted hair, trying to calm her down. "It's okay, you're not alone anymore."

She flinched away from his touch, wailing louder as a tortured phantom, and as if given a signal, her companions began to cry out anew. Sorey's heart constricted at the sight of their pain, the sound reverberating in cacophony in his ears. He nodded decisively and took off his gloves, exposing his tattoos there, the black ink glimmering like dark sunrays even in the dark room. He cupped her face, forcing her to face him even when she tried to get away. Her movements were getting increasingly agitated and hostile, her jaws snapping at him. Already, she was ceasing more and more to be human. 

The crescent moons, the bolts of lightening, their images writhed on the backs of Sorey's palms like squirming veins. At the same time, the girl halted in his hold, malevolence radiating from her body, twirling and twisting in wisps of poisoned smoke in the air before digging their claws into Sorey's body. Tendril by tendril, her taint stabbed through Sorey, lacing into his bones, prying open his ribcage and flooding into his heart. And, of course, the images of her torment and pain started to wash over him.

" _First your dad dies in battle and now your useless mother dies with him! Now we're saddled with all eight of you!" --  "Stop hitting him, please!" -- "You're trapped here. Nothing but a wailing waste of space, like your parents!" -- "Please, let us leave this room! I want to leave! It's dark! Mama, Papa, we're scared! I can't leave, save me, save me!!_ "

Strained, Sorey told her again over the sound of her screaming memories, "It's okay. I won't abandon you. _I'll_ save you.

"I'll save all of you." 

* * *

Sorey's heart felt on the verge of breaking. 

Of course, his body and mind weren't far behind thanks to taking in the malevolence of eight people one after the other. But all he could think about was that those _children_ had such despair in them. They were too young to have that kind of malevolence in them, and yet they were perhaps only minutes away from turning into hellions. Out there, there still existed such cruel humans that broke others and left the broken pieces behind just for their own satisfaction.

 _Careless feelings like those are the precursors to wars_.

Sorey winced in pain, the voices clawing inside his skull, bombarding him with their darkest memories. His own heart was twisting with their fear and budding hatred. His chest felt like it was caving in, and bit by bit his body felt the poisonous effects of the malevolence. A dry heave left him as he doubled over. 

A knock sounded at Sorey’s door, and the images dissipated in a distorted swirl as he focused his gaze to the entrance of his home. The raps were sharp, loud, and even. It had to be some sort of official. Sorey got to his feet with shaking legs, making sure he looked somewhat presentable before he opened the door.

The man on the other side, a year or two older than Sorey and a few inches taller and broader, took him in with mild disbelief in his blue eyes. But he composed himself, straightening himself up. “Good afternoon, my name is Vynn. You’re Sorey, correct?”

“That’s right.” Oh, not an official after all. Most likely a relative of a patient needing to be cleansed. The man wasn’t wearing any uniform or armor despite the prim and proper way he carried himself. “Can I help you with something?”

“I’m a squire of the great general Georg Heldalf, your father -- ah, although I don’t look like it. I couldn’t very well waltz into Hyland territory in my armor.” Vynn gazed at Sorey with eyes that wondered why he was settled here and not the kingdom he was raised in. But he didn’t inquire about it, and went on with his message. “I’d like you to accompany me back to Rolance. Your father needs you by his side.”

Sorey frowned. “Did my father send you here? What for?”

Vynn hesitated. “He did not send me.” He glanced around for any onlookers that could eavesdrop, then leaned forward to Sorey, speaking in low tones, “There are some _matters_ Rolance is currently dealing with, and of my own judgment, I sought you out. General Heldalf is a strong and formidable man, and you _are_ his son, so I believe you’ll be a very valuable asset in the times that are coming.”

It was hard to tell which was more amusing, that Vynn honestly believed Sorey's father taught him the way of the sword to be just as ruthless as him, or that Vynn thought his father needed him at all. The conversation was incredibly one-sided. Whatever fantasies Vynn was having about Sorey being anything like his father, it was clear that he had no idea how his idolized general felt about his only child.

But more than that, the ominous weight of Vynn’s words had Sorey’s stomach twisting again. “The times that are coming?”

Vynn shuffled closer to Sorey, practically backing him up against the doorframe. “You’re not a kid anymore, Sorey. I hear about what you do, but it’s a waste of your strength. It’s high time you too became a Platinum Knight. You see, what I’m talking about is the rebirth of _war_ . It’s on the horizon.” He tilted his head, holding Sorey’s gaze like a sword to his throat. “That tension. That _rage_. The people of both kingdoms aren’t satisfied with the truce.”

Although agitated, Sorey managed to keep relaxed, smiling just slightly. “This is pretty serious talk for a squire that crossed borders without his general’s order. I don’t believe war is coming again. Too much was lost last time. Whole _towns_.”

Vynn backed up, but narrowed his eyes. “Precisely. Don’t you think those abandoned to the flames still seek satisfaction? Listen to me, Sorey.”

“No. I’m not interested in war. And my father doesn’t want me in his army.” More cheerfully, he said, “I’m closing the door now. Have a safe trip back to Rolance, Vynn.” Sorey shut the door, locking it with the afterimages of Vynn’s confused and shocked expression behind his eyelids.

How absurd for anyone to think Sorey was the same as his father.

 _We could be though. One day_.

Sorey shook his head to wipe away that thought. He stepped away from the door and went over to his bookshelf. It was stuffed to capacity with tomes thick and thin, ancient and new, some with spines so worn they were fraying.

Perhaps the visit was making him nostalgic. But Sorey couldn’t sit still, and it was more out of a certain bitter-sweetness rather than poisonous pain that prompted him to pluck one book bound in dark blue from the third shelf and set it on his lap as he sat cross-legged on the floor.

Ink curved and splattered the pages, of dates and mundane events, handwritten notes of a diary. Although no name was printed to indicate the owner, the contents of holding him as a baby, of strained conversations with a man named Heldalf, Sorey knew that the diary was his mother’s. It was the last thing he had of hers other than the feather earrings clipped to his ears. In between the pages were sketched portraits on worn parchment. They weren’t anything his mother had done, but were apparently the work of a friend of hers.

Sorey put the portraits down around him, staring at the images of his mother’s face so much like his own. He remembered the sharp green of her eyes and the steady, confident way that she carried herself. That quiet intensity about her -- Sorey wondered if that was what attracted his headstrong father to her, a woman to be his match.

Looking at her image, Sorey thought once again about what he could’ve done differently that day to save her. He could have held her hand, led her away from the village before that historical raid that burned Camlann to the ground.

Sorey glanced at the other portraits. His mother wasn’t the only one to lose her life -- the merry old couple next door that let Sorey come over and taste-test recipes for their bake shop, the boy a few years older who would lend him advanced books of history at his request, the kind woman that served in the church and her son that would watch an elder seraph (perhaps one of the last to remain in contact with humans) bless the water. Sorey stared at all their faces, but his eyes lingered on the child, carving a dying scream into Sorey's mind and making old scars burn afresh.

“Sorry. I’m so sorry,” he whispered, tracing the jawline of the portrait. This child existed in just a drawing now because of him.

Ha. Perhaps he _should_ become a Platinum Knight. Letting a life slip from his grasp or driving a sword into one deliberately -- what was the difference to Sorey? He'd already been bred in war long ago. 


	3. Caput the Third: The Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two of them settled at the edge of the lake, Sorey watching the first stars begin to dot the sky. The touches were a soothing balm for Sorey. It was a small relief, but one nonetheless. He found himself smiling again.
> 
> “Hey, I know we joke around about it, but sometimes I think you really are my guardian angel.”

****_ Five Years Ago _

The book was snapped closed, a plume of dust rising from the ancient pages. Sorey felt his heart sink at the sight of the large hand over the cover, clad in a gauntlet. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Father.” Sorey swallowed. He fumbled around, gathering the books he’d borrowed from the Rolance royal library, the shelves of which he was currently cradled (and trespassing) in. “I thought you were overseeing the training of the new squires this afternoon.”

“I was, until I realized I didn’t see my son among them. Although I shouldn’t have any expectations in the first place.” Georg Heldalf picked up the tome, and Sorey followed its ascension with his eyes, looking for just a moment at his father’s face. He had the serious furrow of his brow and the displeasured downturn of his lips memorized at this point; it hadn’t changed for years, as if his father were made of stone. 

Heldalf huffed through his nose. “The Celestial Record. Of course. You’re just like your mother with all this seraphim nonsense.” He dropped the book down where it landed with a  _ thud _ .

Sorey kept his heart steeled. He wasn’t a child anymore. He wasn’t afraid of the man who seemed to wear shadows on his face and bloodied iron chained to his words. “Mother couldn’t see seraphim, but I can.” Sorey exhaled. “They  _ exist _ , Father. And Mother might be gone but I want to keep her wishes alive that the world can find peace again.”

“Peace.” Heldalf scoffed the word and turned around. “If you’re going to be wasting your time breaking into the royal library and rotting away, at least read something useful instead of those fairytales. I’m sure you’ll find some tomes on the art of war, for instance.”

Pain twisted in Sorey’s chest, images of fire flashing behind his eyelids when he blinked. He picked the Celestial Record back up, smoothing his palm over the surface like it were something precious, something to be worshiped. This book was all he had left to cling onto for the innocent life he used to live.

“I don’t need to read about war to know about it, you had me live it very well.” 

Sorey hadn’t meant for his father to hear it. But next thing he knew, Heldalf’s footsteps pounded on the wood of the floor, his hand ripping the book from Sorey’s hands and tossing it against the wall where it landed in a splatter of pages. 

“ _ I knew it _ ,” the general spat, “you still hold hatred for me for what happened in Camlann.”

When Sorey tried to get up to salvage the Record, he was immediately shoved back down in his seat. Forced to face Heldalf, Sorey said as strongly as he could muster, “I don’t -- hate you, Father.”

“Hah. Unlike you,  _ son _ , I’m no fool. Advocate for peace all you’d like but you do continue to fester hatred of me, and that isn’t the kind of heart that can attract fairytales of  _ harmony _ .” His father straightened up, head faced forward but his eyes piercing down at Sorey as if condemning him. “I won’t force you to become a Platinum Knight. You’re too soft to serve in the army anyway. Chase after the seraphim all you’d like, but don’t forget that your little stories say that they  _ abandoned  _ us. They won’t help you.”

_ “And neither will I _ .” Sorey felt the unspoken words compress heavily on his shoulders, leaving him utterly alone in more than one way when Heldalf slammed the door to the library closed. Sorey flinched. 

After a few moments of waiting for the footsteps to fade and have the silence settle in, he finally got up from his chair and retrieved the Celestial Record. Pages were bent and some of Sorey’s loose-leaf notes were lost from sections they’d been slipped in, but in all, the book was still safe. 

That confrontation had gone as well as expected. For as long as Sorey remembered, his father had been nothing more and nothing less than the great general of the Rolance army. If there was a loving man under that armor, a man that his mother had seen worthy to give her heart to, Sorey couldn’t recall him. More than once, because of that, Sorey couldn’t help but think maybe, somehow, he was the reason for his father’s change, that he had done something wrong. True, he would’ve been only a newborn, but maybe his unforgivable deed was just that: being born.  _ Existing _ . Heldalf certainly wasn’t the fatherly type, after all. 

And neither was he the type to believe in seraphim, even though Sorey’s mother had, and she had worn a proud, delighted smile when Sorey told her that he could see them. 

But it was no lie that seraphim were no longer among humans. Sorey didn’t want to believe that meant humanity had been utterly abandoned by them though.

_ I’ll show you, Father. I’ll show you that hope is still a powerful thing, and that we can use it to reach a world absent of war.  _ Heldalf might not desire such a world, but perhaps Sorey could teach him to love it. Well, convincing his father of that would be a much harder task than finding a seraph. 

In the pages of the Record that Sorey had open were a collection of symbols -- crescent moons and lightening, waved lines like water and peering eyes. Looking at them, Sorey knew he had to at least try to make these mere possibilities into reality. 

Sorey waited until the dawn of the next day to leave. After a fight like that, it wasn’t very likely that his father would be seeking his company anytime soon. Heldalf was practically always on the palace grounds anyway as Sorey lived on his own in an empty house. His destination being days away wouldn’t matter in the least. 

And so, with a bag full of provisions, some saved gald, a change of clothes, and the Celestial Record on hand, Sorey set out on a journey back to Camlann. It was abandoned as far as he knew, the raid burning it utterly to the ground. There was nothing valuable for even a thief to pilfer from the aftermath. Of course, that was all rumor that Sorey had only overheard -- he hadn’t seen Camlann since he was a child. 

Seeing it now -- it was eerily like nothing had changed, even though everything had. When Sorey blinked, he could still see shadows of what had once been. But now, the humble houses had caved into ashes, leaving remains like the bottom half of a broken eggshell. It had been years, yet as Sorey tentatively walked through the trampled, weed-grown road, the wind sent him the permanent perfume of burning wood and--

Sorey’s stomach twisted, pushing the image of melting skin out of his mind. Instead, from the graveyard that was now Camlann, Sorey glanced through the remains, sometimes finding useless and burnt possessions. 

As much as he tried to avoid it though, he could not deny the pull of his old home. The door was gone, and so was most everything else. The ghost of furniture and books, the brittle bits of clothing… He kicked aside pieces of roof and dusted off ash, but all he managed to find in the end was a leather book -- inside containing the last memories of his mother and hand-drawn portraits. Sorey exhaled, shakily, and gingerly put the book into his bag. 

Somehow, thankfully, there was no sight of bones in the grave of his home. 

Sorey eventually made his way to the shrine-church, mostly intact thanks to the stone walls. The stained glass had been blown out and shattered from the heat of flames though. If the rest of Camlann were the bones, then the shrine-church was the broken, rotted heart. It saddened Sorey deeper than he anticipated to see the place of light and hope in such a despondent state. 

“G-Gramps? Gramps, are you here? Zenrus…?” Sorey glanced around. It was completely empty of any living creature -- human or seraphim. 

And of course it would be. It had been nearly ten years after all. Sorey had hoped though that maybe, by some miracle, the seraphim from his memories would be around. Seeing the state of Camlann now, Sorey could see how foolish that hope had been. During his whole journey here, in fact, for days, he hadn’t seen a single seraph. 

Where could they have gone? They didn’t really -- abandon humanity, did they?

Shoulders sagging, Sorey desperately considered his options. Perhaps he’d come back in the morning and try again. Or maybe he had to travel a little further up the mountains -- just a little further… The words gave Sorey hope again, even if just a small bit. 

_ That’s right. The world is so much bigger than just Glenwood, and I haven’t even searched all of that. The seraphim are somewhere. They have to be _ . Sorey swept his gaze over Camlann once more, imagining the people and seraphim that once lived there in harmony. A life like that -- no one would want to abandon that forever. 

But, like a twig breaking under his foot, the budding hope Sorey felt quickly turned to despair and fear. He turned, and right at the charred gates of the village, crouched a beast. 

It wasn’t an ordinary beast. It was the first time Sorey was seeing one, but the shadows and malevolence that clung to it, burning the very air, could not be mistaken for a normal predator’s aura. Thick coils of blackened scales glimmered in the last light of the sun, bared fangs dripping venom as it hissed at Sorey. 

_ I don’t have a weapon _ . Holding his breath, Sorey glanced around for an escape. The snake hellion had its glowing eyes locked right on Sorey, sizing him up for an attack. No matter where or how fast he moved, it would surely slither up to him before he could get far. 

That didn’t mean Sorey wasn’t going to try. 

He ran to the side, toward the direction of the shrine-church. The hellion followed, hissing and crashing through the rubble to get to Sorey. Tossing any heavy debris he could find at it proved ineffective. In mere moments, as he thought, the hellion had caught up and dived down to sink its fangs into him. Sorey dodged at the last moment, crashing down on the ground and sending up plumes of ashes. 

_ Good job, Sorey. How’s skipping out on sword training working out for you now? _

The hellion tore through the cloud of ash, diving for Sorey once more. Instinctively, Sorey brought his hands up to protect himself. 

A rush of wind blasted the hellion up into the air. With wide eyes, Sorey watched it ascend, then get pierced over and over by a barrage of what looked like swirling bullets made of high-speed wind. The hellion cried out, and in a show of glittering blue dust, faded before its body could even reach the ground again. Still stunned, Sorey could do nothing but stare at the disappearing blue light. And then, he looked down at his own hands. 

“Don’t give yourself too much credit, none of that was you.” A pair of boots appeared from behind Sorey. Long silver hair wasn’t far in accompanying it as Sorey looked up at his savior. There could be no mistaking his appearance -- which, while rather rugged with the belts and exposed torso that showed off a pale network of tattoos on tan skin, still carried an ethereal aura. It was apparent in the unwavering strength in his eyes and the small twirls of wind that danced through his hair... 

“Seraph,” whispered Sorey. 

“Oh, so ya can hear me? See me too, appare--”

“ _ Seraph _ !” Sorey exclaimed, jumping to his feet. Without thinking, he grabbed the seraph’s hands, holding them tight as if he were afraid he’d disappear. “I knew it! I remembered seeing seraphim when I was younger, but it’s been so long! Still, I knew there was no way I wouldn’t be able to find one!”

“A-ah, is that so… Well, luckily for you, you so happened to find the best one~” The seraph was quick to adjust to Sorey’s excitement, grinning at him and puffing out his chest. “Name’s Zaveid. I’d shake your hand but, well, you’re already doing that.”

“Zaveid! I’m Sorey, nice to meet you! Are there any more seraphim around? Please, it’s important that I talk with them!”

Zaveid finally pulled his hands free, and ran one through his bangs. “That won’t be possible, boy. I dunno if humanity got the memo, but seraphim aren’t exactly roamin’ the streets these days.” 

“Then what are you doing here?” 

Zaveid nodded to where the snake hellion once sat. “I’m trying to get rid of those guys. If they get too far up the mountain, they’ll start attacking the seraphim. I just nip the problem in the bud, y’see?”

“Get rid of…?” Sorey’s smile finally fell, and his eyes widened as he spun around to search the ground. He hadn’t noticed before in the middle of the panic but -- as he feared, there was no human body to be found. He had read that hellions were humans that had been transformed by their malevolence. The only hope for them was to be purified...or… 

Sorey turned back around and watched Zaveid’s conflicted face. Dread washed over him, finding a seraphim no longer the happy occasion he had envisioned. “...Zaveid, I don’t understand. There’s a war going on right now, and Glenwood is on a direct path of spiraling down the void of malevolence. We -- we have to save it, but we need the seraphim’s help! We can’t do it alone. We need blessings to  _ purify  _ the malevolence, and not -- not  _ kill  _ anymore people than have already been lost! So -- so please, where are they?”

For a long moment, Zaveid was silent. Finally, he sighed. “I normally would have no problems shutting a human down, but… Geez boy, you look like one of those genuine believers.” Zaveid shoved his thumb through his belt loops, looking out at the sprawl of Glenwood down below. “Look, I’m sure you’ve seen it yourself -- this war, it’s been so bad for the earth and everyone living in it. The malevolence is choking the life out of everything little by little. It has a lot of seraphim thinking that pretty soon, there’ll be nothing left. So -- we cut our losses, thinkin’ once the ashes settled, we can rebuild from the bottom up.”

“...What?”

Zaveid shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “None of us really expected you all to understand. Humans are the ones who can be easily tainted, but  _ seraphim  _ are in tune with the world. As it dies, it hurts us. So, when it got to be too much, we…”

Heldalf’s words echoed in the hollows of Sorey’s chest. “You abandoned us.” 

Even though Zaveid remained silent, Sorey knew exactly the words that were poised on his tongue. Feeling as though his breath were stolen, Sorey slowly crumpled back on the ground.  _ What am I supposed to do now? _

Weren’t seraphim beacons of hope? Weren’t they the embodiment of purity and light? It was true that the world was so bad that even humans without any resonance were seeing the effects of the war’s malevolence, but if the seraphim gave up -- then why should humanity, why should  _ Sorey  _ have anything else to hold onto? 

_ Why should any of us have a chance at redemption then? _

Slowly, Sorey shook his head, denying that thought. No. No, things couldn’t end like this. His mother wouldn’t let it end like this. From the bookholder strapped to his belt, Sorey fished out the Celestial Record. He started turning the pages of the Record, glancing at all the familiar passages and illustrations -- and he stopped at one. 

Zaveid hadn’t left, and actually shuffled closer to see what Sorey was looking at. “Oh? Those markings… I haven’t seen them in years. They’re special runes of heavenly protection -- the Shepherd’s Mark, they were called.” 

“Zaveid,” Sorey began quietly, “I know the seraphim have abandoned humanity. But I don’t want to abandon anyone -- human or seraphim.”  _ Not anymore _ . His hand glossed over the worn pages, his palm splaying right over the Shepherd’s Mark. He looked up at Zaveid, staring straight into his eyes. “Do you think there’s anyway that you could help me?”

After a moment of staring between the open pages and Sorey’s eyes, Zaveid crossed his arms, all humor gone from his expression. “I have  _ one  _ idea. I should tell ya though, the process and consequences will be painful -- but you don’t strike me as any ordinary human. Think ya can take it?”

Hope. That was all Sorey needed. If there was a single spider’s thread, he was going to cling to it with all his might and climb himself out of the shadows of despair. 

“Any pain inflicted on me,” he said, “would be a small price compared to the salvation of everyone else.” 

* * *

_ Present Time _

Sorey took off his shirt and boots before stepping into the lake. The cool water did wonders for the sickness he was feeling. He’d read somewhere before that water was the element of healing -- it looked like it was true. He splashed the water on his face, trying to regain his breath and wash away the sharp tendrils of malevolence from tearing up his mind. 

It seemed like he was getting worse lately. It was taking longer and longer for the malevolence to settle down inside him. He couldn’t sleep that well anymore because his dreams were full of distorted screams and pitch-black hands ripping his body to shreds. In between that darkness was only the feeling of falling down, down,  _ down  _ a hole of flame before he drowned in a black lake at the bottom of his descent. He would fight the suffocating current but the hold of a small, deathly pale hand around his wrist would drag him further below the tides.

“You had more.” 

Sorey jumped, turning to see a figure standing there at the lake’s edge a few feet away. For one terrifying moment, Sorey couldn't place him as anything different from his nightmares.

Mikleo peered worriedly at him, looking unusually solemn. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Ha… You’re right. I should expect my stalker to appear out of nowhere by now, huh?” Sorey’s body relaxed. Mikleo’s voice worked just as well in making him feel refreshed and relaxed as the water did -- more than he realized, as he felt a smile tug at his lips. He moved out of the water to join Mikleo, slicking back his wet bangs when he noticed Mikleo’s attention was elsewhere. 

“Uh -- Mikleo? My eyes are up here,” he teased, kicking some water at Mikleo’s feet. 

“H-hey! No, that’s-- I-I was just surprised. I never knew you had more tattoos on your back, and -- your chest.” On his pale skin, Mikleo’s blushes were obvious. But he tore through that embarrassment to reach a hand out, hovering over where two circular runes were inked on either side of Sorey’s chest. Very lightly, his fingertips drew over the design of one. 

And Sorey let him look, and touch, his eyes following Mikleo’s as they traced over the design of lines going over his shoulder and toward his back. Because he’d seen the mark so many times in the Celestial Record, Sorey could visualize Mikleo seeing where the lines met more circular runes like eyes dotting down either side of his spine. 

He heard Mikleo’s awed breath. “They feel -- warm. A different warm from your body temperature.”

“And  _ you  _ feel cold.” Sorey shivered, both from the temperature of Mikleo’s fingers and how lightly they skated over his skin. The sensation was one that he decided wasn’t unpleasant. 

Mikleo snatched his hand back. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“No, it wasn’t a bad thing! It felt nice.” Now his cheeks were starting to feel warm. Sorey offered a small smile, not knowing how Mikleo would take his next request: “Actually, could you keep doing it? They really burn sometimes, especially after a cleansing -- and your touch is…”

“Oh. Oh, of course! Here, let’s sit.” 

The two of them settled at the edge of the lake, Sorey watching the first stars begin to dot the sky as Mikleo’s cool fingers, lightly dipped in his water artes, brushed over the plane of his back and around the ridges of his shoulder blades. The touches were a soothing balm for Sorey. It was a small relief, but one nonetheless. He found himself smiling again. 

“Hey, I know we joke around about it, but sometimes I think you really are my guardian angel.” 

Mikleo snorted, an undignified sound in contrast with his appearance but Sorey found it endearing, like he wasn’t some beautiful, unreachable force, but someone maybe Sorey could get close to. “Shut up,” he said, “you’re just saying that because I’m helping you right now.”

“But you’d like it if you could help me more, right?” 

The touches slowed. “It -- hurts me to see you suffer.”

What Sorey wanted to ask was  _ why _ , but instead his mind wandered for another seraph he had met before, who had no problems solving a human’s suffering with death. Quietly, he asked, “Mikleo -- have you ever killed someone?” 

Mikleo's hands froze completely. “No. I’ve never so much as touched a human before you.”

“What if they didn’t look like a human?” 

“Are you talking about hellions? I’ve never killed them either.” 

Sorey hummed. “So even though they look like monsters, you never killed one. But I, even though they were still human, I…” His voice lowered, to the point his throat tightened, and snuffed out the flame of his voice, leaving only a thin trail of smoke. There was no force on earth that could grant Sorey the forgiveness he sought, but he also knew he didn’t deserve it. The line between punishment and forgiveness was very thin. 

_ But for a little bit -- just for a little bit, I don’t want to be alone _ … 

“Sorey…”

Slowly, Mikleo’s hands spread on Sorey’s back again, then higher up to his shoulders. His arms came up too, until he was embracing Sorey, his chin resting on his shoulder. The clean scent of rain came so strongly that Sorey could taste it. For a moment, the fact that Mikleo had  _ understood  _ what he needed was enough for fear to spike in his chest, but instead of pulling away, his hands came up to hold Mikleo’s. With how Mikleo pressed against his back, Sorey had the feeling of wings curling protectively around him. 

“Can I at least help like this too?” Mikleo said softly. 

Forgetting all nightmarish visions that threatened to shatter the moment, Sorey nodded, squeezing Mikleo’s hands. “Yeah.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorey's tattoos are basically the design of the shepherd's cloak. I drew some (very bad, I'm no artist) refs of how the marks look on Sorey just in case anyone needed a visual. Designs from the left and right tails of the cloak are inked on his legs. [[Ref 1](https://67.media.tumblr.com/1cd2783880565456565dff58f4ebd24e/tumblr_oehl7v92ow1u97t75o1_540.jpg)] [[Ref 2](https://66.media.tumblr.com/9f33fc20561f0cf8c5a52180b8043133/tumblr_oehlgt0COt1u97t75o1_500.png)]


	4. Caput the Fourth: Six of Cups

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorey’s heart pounded in his ears. “Mikleo, if you’re trying to make me feel better about that boy, you don’t have to. I’ve already accepted a long time ago what happened.”
> 
> “But I haven’t.” Mikleo’s voice was a terrified whisper. “Sorey, this woman -- the staff she has, that’s my staff, down to the last decoration and carving. And the circlet she wears…” Mikleo looked up at Sorey, brushing back his silver bangs to show the golden circlet that had been hidden there.
> 
> Sorey knew at first sight. It was the exact same as Muse’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, the fic is no longer planned to have 5 chapters. I'm not sure how many there will be since I only outlined 5 OTL but I'll try staying with this fic until the end! Until then, please enjoy. This and next chapter are the ones I've been looking forward to writing the most 8))

**** It had been another sleepless night. Sorey had woken up at least once every hour through the night despite his heavy eyelids and aching body. His muscles felt like they were in rough knots and his bones were groaning. He had given up sleep when the stars started fading from the sky, and he got up to splash his face with water from his bedside basin.

What he hadn’t been prepared for was a visitor to make an appearance, waiting for when he’d leave. 

“Mikleo.” 

“Sorey. You’re up and about early, aren’t you?” 

“Couldn’t wait to start the day,” he lied with a smile. “What about you? You’re a fair distance away from Elysia, aren’t you?” Sorey continued to walk on toward his destination, and Mikleo fell into step right beside him. 

“I never went back after meeting you at the lake yesterday. I was -- watching over you.” 

That sounded like typical Mikleo. The corners of Sorey’s lips quirked up in a fond smile. “You should’ve told me. I would’ve let you into my home, you know.” 

Mikleo tried to get a good look at his face. “You look exhausted. Did you sleep at all last night?”

“I slept.” 

“I think you need more rest. What about food? Have you had anything to eat this morning?” 

“I don’t eat before a cleansing, my stomach gets too upset.” Sorey clapped a hand down on Mikleo’s shoulder before he could continue on. “Hey, I know you’re worried about me and probably want to call me a foolish human one hundred times over, but I’m fine. Really! I’ve been doing this for four years now. I know my body’s limits.”

As soon as Sorey released him, Mikleo opened his mouth. “Seraphim have always been the ones who’ve done the purifying. Any humans who have ever tried doing it have always borrowed power from a seraph using them as a vessel, and even  _ then  _ there’s consequences. You can’t honestly tell me that you’re okay after doing this, for  _ years  _ apparently, on your own.”

“The Shepherd’s Marks on my skin were given to me  _ by  _ a seraphim. The ink was imbued with their power.”

Mikleo was momentarily speechless by Sorey’s deadpan answer. Finally, a little lower, he said, “So that’s why they felt warmer. Was it a fire seraph?”

“She scorched them right on me.” 

“That still doesn’t give you reason to be able to purify humans left and right. You’re not using her powers directly, there has to be  _ consequences _ for this. This just isn’t how things  _ work-- _ ”

“ _ Mikleo! _ ” Sorey’s hands were clamped over Mikleo’s tiny shoulders, gripping him so hard he could imagine snapping his bones. The force in his voice when he growled Mikleo’s name echoed eerily around them. Mikleo’s lavender eyes were wide in shock as he froze under Sorey’s touch. 

Sorey quickly let him go, walking off. “S-sorry,” he said, so quietly that he doubted Mikleo even heard him. He tried closing off his senses, not wanting to know if his companion was still following him or not. But at the edge of his consciousness, Sorey could feel the world warp and twist around him, the sky swirling in blackness, the people hissing and growling right at his ear, slithering in the shadows. 

_ That’s not real _ , he told himself.  _ It’s never real, just calm down _ .

By the time he made it to his destination though, he still hadn’t quite gotten a grip on himself. He felt dizzy and it took all his concentration to try and blink the vertigo away to remain upright. The voices of his patient’s relations hardly made sense to him. He heard angry yelling -- probably that of the person he was to cleanse -- and those words rang the most coherent in his head. 

“You’re all so goddamn obsessed with this purifying nonsense! There’s nothing wrong with me, you hear? Get this boy out of here!” 

“Nicolas, please, for your mother… We’re worried about you, you’ve been getting into an awful lot of fights lately…” 

“Get him out! I won’t let him touch me! There’s no malevolence, no purification, no seraphim, there’s none of that stupid childish nonsense in this world! Now for the last time, you’re not stopping me from marching straight to that damn princess to demand some action be taken for war!” 

The words were horribly familiar to Sorey. He’d grown up listening to those words, drilling into his skull with the logistics of war, trying to chase away what Sorey truly believed to be the good and pure of this world. A flare of anger rose sharply in Sorey’s chest, prompting him to tear the man’s tongue out, to crush his lungs, and tug out the malevolence from his body inch by painful inch so that he could know what the  _ true  _ realities of the world were.

_ And I could show him. Even this pathetic life, I could save it _ . 

But when Sorey forced his hands on the man’s face, gripping him hard to keep him still, Sorey felt no hint of salvation -- for either of them. 

The malevolence sprouted out from the man’s body like petals of a flower, blooming around both their bodies. Nicolas cried out, not in protest, but in pain and anger. His malevolence intensified, feeding into Sorey’s body, but it never lessened. If anything -- Sorey felt like his own anger was feeding itself right back to Nicolas. 

The next things Sorey could make out between the flooding tendrils of taint and his own fading consciousness was the sound of Mikleo calling his name, his hands falling away from Nicolas’ transforming face -- and then a beast, a hellion, standing where a man had once been and storming out the door, howling. 

* * *

Sorey awoke from his nightmare convinced that seraphim flesh was thick down his throat and between his fangs. But only air was sucked between his lips, and nothing on his body indicated that he looked different from normal. This wasn’t the bottom of ruins where the forsaken would try to drown him. This wasn’t the blackest circle of hell.

This was his room, his house. This was the scent of books. This was the sweet aftertaste of a gel. This was the face of his guardian angel, in one piece, safe and relieved. 

“Mikleo.” 

“Sorey. Don’t try to move too much. How do you feel?” 

“Like I’ve been dragged through mud.” 

Mikleo offered a small laugh. “Close, but not quite. It took quite a bit of maneuvering to get you home without it looking like you were floating in the air, but I made do.”

Panic gripped Sorey’s chest. “That family, that man--! Mikleo, was I imagining things? Did he turn into a -- a hellion?” 

Mikleo hesitated. “It’s not your fault… Don’t worry, humans won’t be able to see the physical difference in him so the damage to him is still unseen by the family. All they saw was you faint and him escape.”

“But where is he now, Mikleo, he’s a danger to people, how could you just let him  _ go _ ?” 

“I was preoccupied with you! Can’t you see how worried I was, how worried I’ve been? I knew something would happen if you kept--!” Mikleo inhaled, clamping his mouth shut as he gathered his composure. “No, you’re right. I’m sorry. I saw him head out of town, so he’s at least away from people. If you want, we can search for him later. But for now, what you need is rest.”

“I’m fine. Let’s go look for him now.”

Mikleo pushed him back down before Sorey could get up. “No, you’re  _ not  _ fine. I finally got to see how it is that you cleansed humans. And now I can see why you tiptoed around calling it purification. You don’t purify anyone. You’re  _ absorbing  _ their malevolence into yourself. You’re not getting rid of it at all, merely switching vessels.”

Sorey remained silent. Then finally: “It saves them, so what difference does it make. If I can take it all on, there’s no problem.”

“Sorey, you fainted. You get sick every time you do a cleansing. You…” The words were unsaid, but Sorey knew both of them had the same scene playing in their head of Sorey snapping at Mikleo. It was so unlike him. That anger -- both of them had been afraid of it. Sorey was ashamed to even look at Mikleo now that he remembered it.

Mikleo’s hand, still on Sorey’s chest, clutched at his clothing. “Just -- you need to rest.” His voice was quiet, and wavering. The absence of his usual firmness and no-nonsense tone he would usually have for a command like that caught Sorey’s attention. He glanced over, seeing the worry filling Mikleo’s eyes. It made him remember what Mikleo had said about it hurting to see Sorey suffer.  _ Why  _ Mikleo had this concern for him wasn’t something Sorey understood, but he couldn’t turn his back to it -- because Sorey realized it hurt him to see  _ Mikleo  _ suffer.

With a deep, conceding exhale, Sorey relaxed back onto the blankets. “Okay. For you, Mikleo.” He held Mikleo’s fist on his chest with one hand, and reached out to touch Mikleo’s cheek with the other. “I won’t go anywhere. So don’t look so sad anymore.” 

“I wouldn’t have to look sad if you’d just  _ listen  _ to me and let me help you. I wouldn’t be a hindrance, if that’s what you’re worried about...” Mikleo kept his mouth open like he’d continue on, but he shut it, relaxing himself. “But you’re listening to me now, so -- that’s progress. Think you can stomach some water?” 

Mikleo got up without waiting for an answer, heading for Sorey’s kitchen for a cup. Sorey’s hand still hovered in the air where Mikleo’s cheek had been, the cool silk of his skin a phantom sensation on his fingers. And he started to think: about Mikleo being in his house and nursing him, about the thin threads that held Sorey’s mind together, about the past. 

Especially about the past. Beyond the nightmares, this scene felt nostalgic. Laying in bed, having someone take care of him, it brought back images of a sunlit home, cups filled with the wildflowers he would pick on the hills. Even Mikleo’s face offering him a smile as he returned from the kitchen started to tease something in Sorey’s memory. 

Mikleo’s smile fell, his attention caught on something else. He was looking down at the mess Sorey had made on the floor a few days ago after Vynn had visited him. All the letters and drawings… Mikleo gave Sorey the glass of water and made sure he at least had a sip before going back over to examine the mess.

“Were you doing some kind of research?” 

The water felt good on Sorey’s parched tongue, but the queasy feeling returned as it ran down his throat and settled in his burning stomach. He hid his grimace by pretending to wipe his mouth. “Ah, no. I was just feeling nostalgic the other day. That’s all stuff that belonged to my mother. It’s -- all of our precious memories.” 

“Your mother…” Mikleo examined the papers more closely after that, glancing at pressed flowers and the faded pages. He picked up one portrait. “This one is her, isn’t it? She looks so much like you. Well,  _ you  _ look like  _ her _ .” 

Even when she was alive, Sorey had heard similar praise before. It made him happy that he took after his mother’s appearance rather than his father’s. Sorey would probably find it harder to look in the mirror then, and harder to deny that he would be the same as Heldalf one day. 

“Heh, thanks~ Her name was Selene.” 

“What a pretty name. And these are…” Mikleo picked up another drawing. He was angled enough that Sorey couldn’t see his face, but he was silent long enough for Sorey to know that something was going on in his head. 

Sorey sat up, figuring he had the strength to at least hobble over and sit next to Mikleo. He plopped himself down, resting his chin on Mikleo’s shoulder, mirroring their positions from the lake. He meant it to make Mikleo smile, but whatever it was he was occupied with had a real grip on his mind. Sorey followed the movement of Mikleo’s hand up to his forehead, where he lightly brushed over his bangs. 

Any questions Sorey might’ve asked died on his tongue when he looked down at the drawing Mikleo was holding. Soft eyes and smile, she had the delicate beauty of a flower, different from the quiet intensity of Selene’s appearance. 

“Oh. That’s a woman that took care of the shrine-church in Camlann. It was really small, but it was beautiful.” All there was now though was that hollow carcass, the happiness its radiance brought to the people extinguished. 

Sorey continued: “I liked going there and talking with her because she was like me and had high resonance with the seraphim. She introduced them to me, like this elder lightening seraph that I called Gramps. He taught me so much. Oh, see, that’s a drawing of him there. Muse, that’s her name, drew all of these, so she knew what he looked like.” Sorey reached out, pointing to the child holding Muse’s hand in the drawing. “That’s her son. He had his mother’s gift. But he was really shy, so I only actually met him once. I always -- wanted to play with him though. When I finally did…” Sorey gulped, tearing away from Mikleo. “Anyway, I never learned his name. It’s all in the past now.”

“A past you can’t forget though,” Mikleo murmured, frozen on the floor. “Even such tiny pieces of your memory like this boy take up so much of your heart.” 

“I can’t forget about him,  _ any  _ of them. What about that drawing fascinates you so much anyway?” Part of him wanted to snatch the paper away and hide it from view, these pieces of evidence of the lives Sorey let die. No one so pure as a seraph, no one as close to a friend as Mikleo was to him, should see that part of him -- and Mikleo had seen so many horrific sides of him today.

But Mikleo had his own troubles. He held the drawing delicately, as if it would cut him. “I just remembered something I had been told about seraphim. That some of us don’t have all of our memories -- because we have  _ more _ , from when we’re human. But if a human that dies becomes a seraph, they lose those memories.”

“Humans that die can become seraphim…?” 

“Only if they’re pure of heart. Younger humans are the purest -- babies, children…” 

Sorey’s heart pounded in his ears. “Mikleo, if you’re trying to make me feel better about that boy, you don’t have to. I’ve already accepted a long time ago what happened.” 

“But I haven’t.” Mikleo’s voice was a terrified whisper. “Sorey, this woman -- the staff she has, that’s  _ my  _ staff, down to the last decoration and carving. And the circlet she wears…” Mikleo looked up at Sorey, brushing back his silver bangs to show the golden circlet that had been hidden there. 

Sorey knew at first sight. It was the exact same as Muse’s. 

“I-I don’t understand.” Sorey started to back away from the scene. 

But Mikleo wouldn’t let him escape. He reached out and grabbed Sorey’s hand with his own pale one -- this was the same hand that tried to drown him in his dreams? Mikleo’s eyes begged Sorey to stay, to help him make sense of this. 

“I don’t understand either,” he said. “But both the staff and the circlet were given to me by a seraph named Zenrus, who I too call my Gramps. He’s the seraph in this drawing. And the little boy here, next to this Muse…”

“No, that’s impossible,” Sorey’s mouth spilled the words without thinking. He looked down at Mikleo’s hand grabbing him, torn between wanting to yank himself away or holding on.

“But it all adds up. Sorey, I am that boy, aren’t I? I was a human once. And I knew you. We were friends, right? Back then, we were together.” The corner of Mikleo’s lips drew up, so bizarrely happy in contrast to Sorey’s horror. “Isn’t that amazing? After all this time, to have found each other again… I mean, I don’t remember anything, but--”

“Then don’t. Stay like that.” Gradually, an oppressive weight filled Sorey’s chest. He finally took his hand back, hugging himself as he started to shake. “Oh god…”

“Sorey?”

“Don’t! Don’t remember anything, you shouldn’t… You shouldn’t even be here!” Distance. He needed some distance between them right now. Sorey couldn’t even bear to listen to Mikleo’s voice. “G-Get out of here, go back home! Don’t even think about watching over me ever again! I don’t deserve it!” 

Mikleo didn’t make any move to listen to the harsh demands. “Sorey, I don’t understand.” Mikleo’s voice was quiet. “Did something happen back then? If I ever hurt you, I-I’m sorry. But you -- you’re a piece of my humanity. I can’t let that go. We were friends, so--”

“ _ Stop calling us friends! _ ” Sorey roared, tossing a nearby bottle of oil inches from Mikleo’s head. It shattered on the wall, echoing the break deep in Sorey’s heart, glass pieces of himself that made it hard to breathe. In that chasm, the malevolence stirred within him, an endless maze of others’ hatred that festered his own, intensifying it. Bit by bit, tendrils of abysmal miasma sprouted from Sorey’s body.

Rage and agony blurred his vision as Mikleo stared in shock at him. “You won’t find anything worth calling humane in me for you to have! I’m -- I’m the-- Oh gods, just get out, get out,  _ get out _ !” The snap of his words were choked out by the pain in his insides, the familiar sick sensation that seized his body, making him crumple to the ground. 

Immediately, Mikleo was by his side, his hands running down Sorey’s body despite Sorey’s best efforts to push him off and yell cruel things to him. “Sorey, you have to calm down, the malevolence is tying into your emotions. Please, stay with me. Don’t give into it! Don’t fall, Sorey, please don’t…!”

“ _ Don’t let me fall, Sorey, don’t let go. I’m scared! _ ” 

_ I’m scared too _ . Sorey remembered the thought flying endlessly through his head when he looked down at lavender eyes -- he could remember it now, such wide lavender eyes...

_ I’m scared too… _

_ Please, someone, anyone… _

 

_ Please help me…! _

 


	5. Caput the Fifth: The Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you lonely too?”
> 
> “Um… Maybe.” M shrugged, shuffling like he was embarrassed to admit it.
> 
> Sorey smiled, puffing out his chest proudly again. “Don’t be! I’m here for you now, okay? I’ll be your friend!”
> 
> After a moment, the corner’s of M’s lips curled up. “I’ve never had a friend before, but -- I want to be together with you, Sorey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we are at the conclusion of what I'm mentally calling the first arc. As I mentioned, I only originally had 5 chapters planned and outlined, so I'm still toying with how to execute the ideas I have for the rest of the fic. I'm considering switching over to Mikleo's point of view for the second half, but we'll see. Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy this chapter, as I was eager to write this one as well. I will warn (?) that there is character death in this installment though.

_Eleven Years Ago_

In an odd contradiction, Sorey felt both full of happiness and loneliness to have a high resonance with seraphim. He could hold conversations with them and listen to their stories about the world of old. It brought a smile to Sorey’s face and lit a flame in his heart to hear the peace and happiness that once overflowed the world when humans and seraphim co-existed.

No one else but Muse shared his gifts, and through her kindness she introduced him to the seraphim that frequented the shrine-church. Although Sorey was grateful to know someone else that could see the same world he did, he still wished for his own kind of friend, someone he could play with and talk about everything in the world with.

Muse told Sorey that she had a son a few months older than him, and that he too shared their gift. Every day after that, Sorey asked to see him. The excitement must’ve been obvious in his eyes and voice, how eager he was to have a friend his own age that was just like him.

“He’s such a shy boy,” Muse confessed with a small smile. “He’s always holed up in his room reading.”

Sorey made an intrigued sound. “What does he read?”

“Oh goodness, everything.” Muse laughed sweetly. “Fairytales, children’s books, encyclopedias, historical records -- everything tickles his fancy.”

Sorey practically jumped up and down around Muse. If her son was too shy, then Sorey would win his favor first so that he’d warm up to Sorey. It was just like being gentle with stray kitties, right? “Muse, is it okay if I give him books to read?”

“Oh my. Well, I don’t see why not. I think he’d appreciate it a lot, Sorey~”

And so, in the days afterward, Sorey sorted through the books in his house for Muse’s son to read. Sorey too loved burying himself in a good book, genre and difficulty didn’t bother him, as he loved learning -- and so was therefore eager to share these worlds he himself had delved into many times before. He picked out his favorites and passed them, along with a small note with hopes of the books being enjoyed, onto a delighted Muse.

_Your mommy said you like books! I like to read too! Tell me if you like these books! -Sorey_

At first, there was no reply, no indication that Sorey’s gesture was acknowledged. But after three days had passed, Muse returned Sorey’s books -- with some new additions. When Sorey realized that, he excitedly dashed all the way home and cracked open the pages and leather covers. They had new scents and textures to them from being held in a different home and in different hands. In that way, Sorey really did start to feel like he was closer to his potential new friend.

A note fluttered out from the first book, written in neat cursive like an adult: _Thank you for letting me borrow your books. I liked the one with the mermaid. Here are books for you. -M_

There were several scratched out lines after that, as if more had been written then retracted multiple times. Sorey found himself smiling at the awkwardness -- it was sweet in its own way. His new friend probably hadn’t talked to others before. But maybe through sharing each other’s books and interests and writing these little notes, it’d be easier for him to open up.

And so it went for a month. Sorey’s notes changed to letters detailing favorite parts in the books he borrowed or elaborating on his own knowledge on subjects. His excitement made his already messy handwriting all the more a sharp contrast to the composed loop and twirl of his friend’s cursive -- but he too engaged in Sorey’s talk of history, seraphim, fairytales, and the world.

With each letter, the boy who only signed as “M” opened up.

And then one day, Sorey asked, _Do you like ruins? Have you ever been in one? Come explore one with me, it’s really really really fun!_

Sorey didn’t receive a letter in reply. Instead, when he visited Muse in the shrine-church a few days afterward, tiny hands were clutching at her clothes, a childish face obscured by her leg.

“Come on, dear, say hi,” she urged the hiding child, ruffling his brown hair in encouragement. “This is Sorey, the nice boy who has been lending you his books. You liked them a lot, right?”

Finally, a pair of large purple eyes peered from behind Muse. Her son might’ve been a few months older than Sorey, but he carried himself in such a way like he wanted to make himself smaller. The fact that his shirt seemed a bit too big didn’t help -- the hem reached his knees and the sleeves flooded over his fingertips. Even his gaze could only hold Sorey’s for about a second before falling to Sorey’s shoes.

“H-Hi,” he said, giving a small wave. “I really liked, um, y-your books.”

Sorey grinned, hands on his hips and chest puffed out. “Me too! But I want us to like each other too! Oh but, I really liked you before seeing you, hehe~”

“L-like…”

“Hey, do you want to play with me? I told you we can go exploring together, right?”

“Ah, um…” The conversation seemed to be going too fast for M, but Muse patted his back, trying to nudge him forward.

“Go on, you two have fun~ Please look after him for me, Sorey. Be his friend.”

M’s eyes widened, his mouth parting for a protest that never came as Sorey beamed, nodding. “Yes, we’ll be best friends! Come on, I already know where to go!” Without delay, Sorey took M’s hand and dragged him along, out of the shrine-church and toward the hills.

M stumbled along, but made no move to take his hand back. “Where are we going?”

“To the ruins! I’ve been there _tons_ of times before, so don’t worry, I know everything about it!”

“You already explored ruins?”

“Heh, are you jealous~?”

Pink immediately flooded M’s cheeks. “I’m not!” he said in his loudest voice yet. It looked like a little teasing was the way to this boy’s heart. Sorey laughed and continued to lead them through the hills and tickling grass until they approached the crumbling arches and vaults hidden from view.

The interior was dark, save for the sunlight that streamed in between cracks. It was a large ruin that spread its roots beneath the earth as well as up to the sky with its weathered and worn towers. Sorey looked over to see M gaping in awe as he took it all in with wide eyes. He kept close to Sorey, holding his hand tight.

Sorey smiled, happy at his friend’s response. “You know they said that this ruin was built by seraphim. Earth seraphim brought up the stone, lightening seraphim carved onto the walls, water seraphim filled fountains -- things like that.”

“Amazing…”

“I found this ruin after Gramps told me about it. He’s one of the seraphim that visits the village. You’ve seen him, right? Look, this is something he made!” Sorey tugged at M to follow him down the large maze of corridors, until he turned into a room.

It was wide and tall, the ceiling crumbled to let in a stream of sunlight that fell onto a huge carved mural that filled the whole opposite wall framed by pillars on either side. On it, a gathering of human and seraphim were carved, elements of fire and earth and wind and water cradling them. Although there were no words, it brought a feeling of unity, a mighty and powerful thing that brought balance and happiness to all.

M slipped his hand out of Sorey’s hold to step closer. The carving loomed larger the closer he walked over the cracked ground to it, as if he could be engulfed by it, welcomed in with open arms. M reached a hand out, his palm running over the stone wash of water as he craned his head up to take it all in.

Sorey came up a few steps behind him, gazing from M to the wall, recalling all the times he sat to take it in. “Gramps said humans and seraphim used to be together. The world wasn’t scary back then. It was bright and happy, and no one was invisible or lonely. Everyone was together.”

“I wish we could go back to that,” M said quietly, his hand falling back to his side.

“You think that too?”

M nodded. “The world is really scary now. I keep hearing the grown-ups talk about war. In the books, they say people...pass away from war. Just like my uncle and father.”

“Oh.” Sorey glanced down. “My dad is a part of the Rolance army. He always talks about war, and leaves home a lot to train new knights. Me and Mom try to tell him it’s bad and will make people and seraphim sad, but...he doesn’t even believe in seraphim, even though I can see them.”

For a moment, M was silent, as if he didn’t know what to say. Then, he admitted, “I think Mother feels lonely a lot, which is why she’s always at the shrine-church where the seraphim always are. Just like you.”

Sorey looked over at M. “Are you lonely too?”

“Um… Maybe.” M shrugged, shuffling like he was embarrassed to admit it.

Sorey smiled, puffing out his chest proudly again. “Don’t be! I’m here for you now, okay? I’ll be your friend!”

M stared at him uncertainly. “You keep saying that.”

“You don’t want to?” Sorey’s smile waned some.

After a moment, the corner’s of M’s lips curled up. “I’ve never had a friend before, but -- I want to be together with you, Sorey.”

Sorey decided he liked M’s smile. It was closed-lip, but it still reached his eyes. Sorey could see them better now, such a pretty, sparkling purple. No longer afraid that he would scare M off, Sorey took his hand again, squeezing it.

“Then, tell me your name. Is it really just ‘M?’”

“Oh. No, it’s Mi--”

A loud _crack_ echoed in the large room, shaking the very ground beneath their feet. The two of them wobbled, holding each other’s hands more tightly. The spiderwebs of cracks on the stone ground widened then caved in, opening up a gaping hole.

It was a hole that swallowed M in.

He cried out, falling down, but quickly Sorey held onto his hand, struggling at the edge of the hole to keep them both up. Rocks fell into the chasm, crashing down with huge splashes -- one of those underground reservoirs of water had to be below them.

“Sorey!” M dangled, kicking his legs and trying to lift himself up. “S-Sorey!”

“N-no, stop moving so much,” Sorey said, his heart racing out of his chest when M’s hands slid further down. What was he supposed to do? He tried with all his might to pull M up, but it took everything he had just to keep holding on.

Tears started welling in M’s eyes. He looked from Sorey to the endless abyss below. Even the sunlight couldn’t give any illumination -- all the way down, it was just darkness. When Sorey looked down at it, he felt like he might be sucked down too.

“D-don’t look down!” he said, remembering his mother saying that to him once when he got stuck in a tree. Sorey was eventually saved by her and they got to go home safely. The same would be for him and M, right? “Don’t look down, j-just look at me! I’ll help you up!” He pulled, more and more, grunting with effort.

M gazed up at him, crying. “Sorey,” he sobbed quietly, voice thick with tears. “Don’t let me fall, Sorey, don’t let go. I’m scared!”

For once, any words of comfort had evaporated from Sorey’s tongue. He could always manage to be positive. He was always smiling, even when his father said cruel things. Sorey dreamed about being able to live in a world where humans and seraphim existed, where no one was lonely, where families weren’t torn by war, where miracles happened. M dreamed of that world too, right? Sorey wanted to see it with him, together.

“I-I’m gonna save you. I’m gonna save you!” Sorey inhaled and closed his eyes, pulling once more with every ounce of his strength.

It came like a series of snapshots -- one second Sorey was holding M’s hand, the next it slipped from his grasp.

The room echoed with a scream. Sorey opened his eyes and looked over the edge in horror, M’s bright eyes and pale hands disappearing into the darkness.

Nothing in Sorey’s hands.

The room terrifyingly empty.

Sorey backed up from the chasm, unable to breathe, paralyzed, unable to scream. He opened his mouth, but only M’s deathly-terrified voice echoed out in the hollow parts of his body.

Through the ruins, he was running, tripping, crumbling, breaking, desperately searching for the way back.

“H-help… Help…! HELP!!”

Later on, Sorey would sit in bed, numb and mute. His mother was brushing his bangs back and saying she would go make some tea. The front door to the house would open, revealing his father. His words after hearing the horrible tragedy would haunt Sorey’s mind for the rest of his life.

“ _You can’t save everyone. You can’t save anyone_.”

It was a curse, mocking Sorey’s every attempt at redemption and salvation.

* * *

_Present Time_

They were at opposite ends of the room. Mikleo was standing in the middle of the drawings and notebooks again, a tangible ghost in the fragments of the past. Sorey was still on the ground, his body and mind in torture. As he painfully recounted the past with Mikleo, his words were stopped by him crying out and writhing in agony. Every time Mikleo would beg him to stop and to let him help, Sorey lashed out, either physically or by his own malevolent aura pushing Mikleo back -- now that Mikleo knew the truth, Sorey had no more plans to keep himself in check. It wasn’t as if Mikleo could trust him anymore or honestly think him as some savior like others saw him as.

All there was to Sorey now was this twisted, unforgivable nightmare.

“You know,” he continued after a long lull, “I couldn’t keep your letters. I buried them back in Camlann. I suppose they’re burned and gone now.”

Other than pleading to help Sorey, Mikleo had remained wholly silent. But now, quietly, he said, “This doesn’t feel real…”

A cruel laugh escaped Sorey’s lips. “It’s real. It’s been my reality for over a decade. I didn’t know what to do, or how to repent. I couldn’t even bring myself to go to your funeral.”

Mikleo struggled to say something, obviously battling between comforting Sorey (and probably himself too) and shock. “Sorey, we were just kids,” he finally said, but it sounded like an excuse. More heartfelt, he added, “You tried to save me, and that’s what matters. And besides, look at me. I’m _here_ now.”

Sorey shook his head. Seraph or ghost, it was all the same. “Gods, it’s not just you I had killed though. Muse was -- so torn up. She had already lost her brother and husband, and then I let her only child die.”

“Did she…”

“Kill herself? No. She was alive until the tragedy in Camlann. That doesn’t mean she wasn’t suffering.” Sorey’s hands curled into shaking fists. “I killed both of you, and then everyone in Camlann.”

“No!” Mikleo’s protest was immediate. “Gramps told me what happened in Camlann. How can it _possibly_ be your fault?”

“Don’t talk like you know anything about it when you were _dead_!” roared Sorey. “All of this, everything that has happened, it most definitely -- it _definitely_ is all because of me! I wasn’t strong enough. I wasn’t convincing enough. The world we dreamed of won’t exist!” Trembling, Sorey looked away, trying to blink back stinging tears.

_Nothing I’ve done has made any difference in the world_. _There is absolutely no one that I can save._ Not to mention with that last cleansing, Sorey’s malevolence influenced that man _to_ _turn_ into a hellion. His own anger and hatred was so immense that it tainted someone else’s being. It made Sorey want to laugh.

_I’m truly no different from my father in the end_.

“Sorey… Come back to Elysia with me. Gramps can help you.”

“I haven’t seen him since before you died. There’s no way I’m letting him see me now.” _He always used to tell me that if I stayed on my path, then everything would be okay. I don’t know what I did wrong._

Despite everything, Mikleo stepped forward. “I’m _not_ abandoning you. You’re foolish a million times over, but you’re not becoming a hellion or worse, not while I’m around.”

Sorey’s heart clenched. “Why not? Then you could finally kill me.”

“I’m not doing that. Sorey, our world can still exist. We just have to fight for it! No more running away, no more letting go. I know we can do it, just _please_ come with me to Elysia.”

The hot rejection burned on Sorey’s skin. For just a moment, he had the thought of Mikleo’s pure-white existence being stained black just from Sorey’s touch. For a second time, he could send Mikleo into that abysmal darkness.

Sorey tilted his head. The pain in his body was numbing itself out. His mind, still fractured, laid in quiet pieces. A strange and twisted sort of clarity was coming over him, and when he blinked, he felt like he was seeing the world with new eyes. And he could see right through Mikleo, who was gazing at him in shock.

“Sorey, the Marks… It looks like they’re writhing.”

Earlier, Mikleo had forced Sorey’s shirt half-unbuttoned to air out his sweat, and now there was a clear display of the tattoos on his chest, pulsating hideously under his skin like a parasite on Sorey’s flesh. Strangely, it didn’t hurt, and Sorey ignored it for the moment, feeling calm.

“I don’t understand why you’re still here,” he finally said. Exhaling, he rose up steadily, buttoning his shirt back up. Gloves? No, he wouldn’t bother. “What is it that you want from me, Mikleo? Who is it that you want me to be? My father once had half-hearted hopes I’d become a Platinum Knight and fight for Rolance in the war, and now his squires are knocking on my door asking for the same. Alisha would love for me to become a symbol of hope for Hyland and everyone in Glenwood, like some holy being. So what do _you_ want from me? To be a helpless human for you to protect? I don’t need a guardian angel anymore.”

As soon as Sorey turned for the front door, Mikleo bridged the gap between them, grabbing Sorey’s wrist. On some kind of horrible reflex, Sorey grabbed Mikleo’s arm and threw him against the wall, pinning that same arm behind his back. Mikleo cried out in pain, but didn’t move.

“Don’t. Or I’ll have to break one of your pretty angel wings.” He nuzzled into Mikleo's neck, inhaling his sweet scent, seductively inviting him to take a carnivorous bite.

Mikleo grunted. “S-Sorey… Please, I just want you to be _you_.”

A hundred different voices with a thousand different agonies overlapped in terrible cacophony inside him. The memories tied to the malevolence he’d absorbed overwhelmed any of his own thoughts, mixing with his own being until he felt one with the taint. Sorey tossed Mikleo to the side, tearing open the door to disappear into the fading sunlight.

Over his shoulder, he said, “I’m not sure who that is anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I go back and forth with flashbacks a lot, thus I made a handy-dandy mini-timeline for reference, which I'm putting here for anyone who needs it. As for when I'll update next, I will tryyy to get chapter 6 up soon, but once November hits I will mostly do Nanowrimo, so updates would likely halt until December.
> 
> Timeline (based on Sorey’s age)  
> Age 5: Ten-Year War of Chaos begins  
> Age 6: meets Mikleo/Mikleo's death  
> Age 7: Camlann is attacked, burns to the ground  
> Age 12: revisits Camlann, meets Zaveid  
> Age 13: receives Shepherd’s Mark tattoos  
> Age 15: Ten-Year War of Chaos ends  
> Age 17: present timeline


End file.
